


Secret Santa

by thevalesofanduin



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Christmas, Gift Fic, Gift Giving, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 18:03:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5550107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevalesofanduin/pseuds/thevalesofanduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q has always been a bit of a sucker when it comes to Christmas. He also happens to be a sucker when it comes to James Bond.</p>
<p>So of course for MI6’s annual Secret Santa, Q draws Bond’s name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Santa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [johanirae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johanirae/gifts).



> A short gift fic for the lovely Johanirae who sent me the most awesome Christmas card this year <3

Q won’t admit to it, but he’s always been a bit of a sucker when it comes to Christmas. A tree, lights, the whole lot. He even owns a Christmas sweater.

Q also happens to be a sucker when it comes to James Bond – no matter how much he tried to fight it in the beginning.

So of course, when Eve is parading around the office with a glass bowl of names – written on white paper neatly folded in half – for MI6’s annual Secret Santa, Q draws Bond’s name.

Eve reads him almost immediately and is incredibly amused.

Q merely rolls his eyes – pretends he’s not ecstatic about this chance at all – and while sipping Twinning’s special Christmas Edition tea, thinks about what to get Bond.

 

When he’s finally got Bond’s gift boxed, he carefully selects a burgundy wrapping paper and finishes it off with a black, gold-rimmed ribbon.

He admires it from a distance for a moment and decides it looks nice enough.

On the day of the Christmas party, Q skips his ten o’clock tea break in favour of sneaking into the “gift collecting meeting room” to put his present – now neatly labelled “James Bond” – down with all the others. As he leaves, he sends it another nervous glance and hopes Bond likes it – if not, he’ll forever deny being Bond’s Santa.

 

He dresses up for the party in his newly bought – and tailored – black suit and, because it’s Christmas, wears a green button-up and a red bow-tie.

He even gets out his grey woollen coat so when he walks into the ballroom MI6 has rented for tonight’s party, he feels quite in his element. Especially when he sees the floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree lavishly decorated and with what looks like hundreds of gifts underneath.

He’s all warm and fuzzy, especially when he gets going on the eggnog, and even a ridiculous Secret Santa gift – a flamingo with a Christmas hat singing the Macarena should be illegal – can’t ruin his particularly good mood.

He’s even forgotten what Bond might think of his gift and spends most of his time chatting with Eve and Tanner – mostly about Christmas and they’re most likely terribly bored were it not for the fact they’re also terribly amused.

He’s on his way to the bathroom, rounds the corner out of the ballroom and into the hallway when he feels a hand curling around his waist.

After the initial tingle that goes through him, he startles and is ready to turn around and hit the one that dares to get their hands on him when he hears a familiar deep voice.

“An exploding pen, Q?”

“Bond,” Q turns, Bond’s hand falling from his side and he’s sad to have it go if he’s honest.

Bond smirks. “I thought you didn’t go in for those anymore.”

“Not officially.” Q huffs, amused by the mere idea of using an actual exploding pen in the field – no matter the masterpiece he’s made for Bond.

Bond raises an eyebrow curiously. “Most people give their Secret Santa a bullshit gift for laughs.”

“The gift isn’t to your liking?” Q can’t help but ask defensively – has he taken his need to impress Bond a bit too far this time?

“Oh, it is. Tremendously so.” Bond smirks and then that hand is back around Q’s waist, tugging him a bit closer to Bond whose piercing blue eyes are fixed fondly on Q. “But I might need a private demonstration to fully understand how it works.”

Q – damn him – gasps at the words but is quick to say: “how about dinner first?” despite the blush burning on his cheeks.

But he’ll be damned if Bond even dares to think he’s one of his many ladies.

Bond smiles tenderly and pecks Q on the corner of his mouth. “Absolutely.”

Something in Q’s stomach flutters and he just knows this is going to be his best Christmas yet.


End file.
